


for the love of dogs

by tesselations



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Fereldans and their dogs, Fluff, M/M, Puppy Love, anders is a cat person, cheesy af, have you ever noticed how dogs resemble their owners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:11:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesselations/pseuds/tesselations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is a cat person, most of the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the love of dogs

Anders is a cat person; he’s said it more than once. So he doesn’t understand why he has to keep repeating himself to Hawke.

It’s strange to call the Amell estate home, but at some point the high-ceilings and glittering chandelier light and mud covered carpets had become home to him. It’s very Hawke, the whole place, expensively lit and draped in deep red tapestries (but not curtains, despite how many times Anders has suggested that Garrett buy some), covered in mud and dog hair. It’s the dog hair that really gets to him, pale yellow Mabari hair in the bed and his slippers and his robes. 

“Garrett,” he moans, sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking dog fur out of his boots. “This has got to stop. There’s fur in all my clothes.” 

Garrett just rolls over, wraps one muscled arm around Anders, and pulls him backwards.

“He’s shedding, it’s a sign,” he growls playfully in Anders’ ear. “You’re clearly not meant to put clothes on. Just stay here with me.”

Anders lets himself melt into Garrett’s grasp for a moment, before the headache comes, Justice’s disapproval making itself known. 

“No, no, my head is killing me, and I need breakfast before I go to the clinic. Come on love, let me up,” he complains, struggling weakly against Hawke. Garrett whines then, an actual, honest-to-Maker whine and Anders is torn between being amused and annoyed. But Garrett relents, and Anders goes back to shaking fur out of his clothes and snapping the buckles on his coat shut. 

Before he opens the bedroom door to head to the kitchen, Garrett catches him from behind, his shaggy black bangs tickling the back of Anders’ neck. 

“Don’t work too late, we’re meeting Isabela and Varric for drinks later,” he murmurs softly, and Anders kisses him goodbye. When he leaves, the mabari cocks its head and whines in a way eerily reminiscent of his owner.

Fereldans and their dogs, Anders thinks, and unlatches the cellar door.

When he finds black hairs caught in the collar of his coat, he just sighs in defeat. 

\--

He doesn’t work too late. He would have, but Justice’s disapproval is tempered by the memory of Garrett’s puppy dog eyes now, and if he’s feeling guilty either way, he might as well keep his promise to his lover. 

Closing up the clinic takes time though, and by the time he joins them, it’s clear that Garrett is well and fully drunk. He frowns a little. Since Leandra died, Garrett’s been drinking more, and even months later it hasn’t let up. 

“Hello love, Isabela, Varric,” he greets them affably, if a little tired, and slides down in the seat next to Garrett, obviously reserved for him. The table is worn and scarred, with Isabela’s limericks carved into it, and he runs his fingers over the deep gouges in the wood.

“Anders!” Hawke cries, and places a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek, an arm around his shoulders. Anders’ smiles and wipes his cheek off. “I was worried you weren’t gonna show up.” 

“Hey there Blondie. Want me to deal you in?” Varric asks. His voice is deep and soothing, and Anders lets the familiarity wash over him, as he relaxes into Garrett’s side.

“I always lose you know,” Anders says. Varric shrugs.

“I expect nothing less.”

It’s the most fun Anders has had in ages, tempered by the fact that he knows Justice will want him to work twice as hard for it tomorrow. Garrett plays Wicked Grace with the same amount of enthusiasm he shows for everything else, throwing himself completely into the game and losing terribly because he can’t hide his tells. Between the two of them, they lose a sovereign and a half, and Anders has to hold Garrett up as they walk home.  
\--

They get back to the mansion, and Dog nearly knocks Anders’ flat on the ground when he leaps up to lick his face in greeting.

“No! You beastly—ugh, Garrett, really,” he complains. Garrett helps him up, and both him and Dog at least have the decency to look guilty.

“He was just saying hello?” he offers weakly. Anders’ groans.

“I’m covered in mabari drool and fur again. Your dog is disgusting,” he complains. Dog whines. Anders scowls. “I’ve told you, I’m not a dog person. You can’t make puppy dog eyes at me and have it be okay.” Garrett looks confused.

“Are you talking to me, or Dog?” he asks. Anders pauses. The statement is valid either way, he figures, and really, that’s his life now, isn’t it? Living with the Champion of Kirkwall, who smells like wet dog and expensive cologne and wrestles with his mabari in front of the fireplace. On top of being an apostate/Grey Warden/abomination, his life has gone in directions he had never expected. 

“Both of you. I’m going to go wash up, and you should too,” he decides. Garrett grins, his teeth white against his black beard, and follows Anders into the bath.

They both manage to get clean. Anders is drying himself off when Garrett climbs out of the tub, and shakes the water in his hair everywhere. 

“Fereldans!” Anders groans. Garrett laughs.

“You’re Fereldan too,” he says, and Anders shakes his head, drying off for a second time. 

“No, I’m Anders,” he points out, but he’s smiling. “From the Anderfels. We’re much more civilized there, I promise.” Garrett just shrugs, and shakes his hair out again, with Anders out of the splash zone this time.

\--

The lights are out and Anders is falling asleep when Garrett whispers in his ear, 

“Do you really dislike Dog that much?” he asks plaintively, and it’s not just about the dog, he knows. Anders sighs. 

“I’m not a dog person at all love,” he starts cautiously, and now it’s Garrett’s turn to sigh, hot breath and scratchy beard at Anders’ neck. Anders relents. “But he’s not that terrible, as long as he stays out of the bed and doesn’t try to chew up my pauldrons again.” 

Garrett places another wet kiss on Anders’ throat and curls around him, his still damp hair soaking the pillows. Anders sighs. He’s not a dog person, but thinking of Hawke and his deep brown eyes and his boundless enthusiasm and wet kisses, his protectiveness and possessiveness, he thinks that just maybe, he’s made an exception.


End file.
